A Gift Beyond Measure
by raiderl
Summary: The Devil Wears Prada movie-verse. Once again I'm taking a journey into the heads of Miranda and Andréa, but this time the events all occur on one particular day: that last day in Paris. My exploration of what may have happened if Andy had decided that she wasn't going to leave. Note ratings for each chapter as a couple are NSFW. For the LJ July Ficathon 2013. DWP. raiderL.
1. Chapter 1

_Disclaimers and Ratings: I own nothing and am making no profit from this work (aside from the satisfaction of writing). This chapter explores adult themes and has language that anyone under 16 really shouldn't be reading. Let's rate this at R. From Chapter 3 forward the rating will go to NC-17._

___A/N: I would like to thank Firebird93 for her awesome beta work. Without her you all would be suffering through comma faults, a few awkward phrasings (okay, maybe a bit more than a "few"!) and all those other unfortunate things that happen when I channel a scene in my head directly onto paper. So thank you E! She is also a writer and has posted in DWP-land. Her fic "Forgiveness" is especially wonderful and can be found on fanfiction dot net. _

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**Chapter 1**

_How did I get here?_ Andy struggled with remaining still and calm as she waited for judgment, as she waited for the ridicule and disdain she was certain would be bestowed upon her. She kept her eyes down, focusing on the sculpted patterns of the pale butter yellow carpet. Her nose began to itch but she ignored it, keeping her hands firmly behind her back.

Seconds passed, the silence broken only by the rhythmic ticking of the ridiculously ornate mantle clock so typical of the Louis XIV style and the subtle in and out of her breathing. If she didn't know better she'd swear she was alone in this room, but no ripple of movement had heralded an exit; no, she was quite sure she'd shocked the other woman if the preternatural stillness that greeted her actions was any indication.

She was distracted by a tickling sensation; a trickle of sweat was making its way from between her breasts to her belly, the material of her loose cashmere sweater providing no barrier to its progression.

More quiet clicks of the minute hand pulled time as if it were an extra thick mass of saltwater taffy. Andy considered again how she had arrived at precisely this moment, her fate on a razor's edge. Utter ruin or… A rustle of fabric disrupted her anxious self-chatter but it lasted for only a few seconds. She remained immobile even as her thoughts raced. Yes, two possibilities here: ruin and complete humiliation followed by a forced march back to Ohio or something so amazing that for a long time she'd dared not even allow the extravagance of belief in the possibility.

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Miranda watched as a pink tongue slipped between luscious red lips before a flash of white teeth tugged lightly at the bottom lip. Slowly her power of observation was returning her to the place of equilibrium so startlingly disrupted by the actions of a young woman nearly half her age, but with perhaps more courage than the entire board of Elias Clark. She now faced a decision from which, once made, there would be no going back. As she contemplated the fate of not only herself but also of Andréa, she was forced to examine the road that had led her to this point. It really should have come as no surprise when she stopped to think about it. Months now the dynamic between them had been shifting and bubbling, not unlike a mountain stream on its way to the ocean, tumbling quickly down steep grades or burbling lazily through flat, grassy glens, always in motion with no apparent pattern.

_Well, that stream has apparently arrived at a loggerhead. _ Miranda internally snorted at her allegorical meanderings as she tapped her chin. But she realized now that there did exist a pattern and the space she was forced into now allowed her to actually see - and grudgingly accept - her part in its formation.

_But what to do? _ Indecisiveness was never one of her foibles so to have it loom now, the decision heavy with import, indicated the enormity of the moment. This act, this amazingly, never-to-have-been-conceived of act by a creature who embodied beauty both inside and out had, she realized, not only assuaged all of the anger and hurt stemming from Andréa's earlier abandonment, but had completely humbled Miranda.

As Miranda's contemplation stretched outward, she asked herself with no small amount of wonder how she had even earned this trust. The utter stillness of the form before her allowed Miranda the space to traverse fully the winding switchbacks within her own psyche, leading her to admit her collaboration in the events leading to this moment in time.

Time. The finally crafted masterpiece of a mantle clock, perfectly executed (albeit in a style that she personally loathed), continued to mark the continuation of time and would continue regardless of her decision; it was the consequences that would differentiate how that time would be experienced by not only herself but by Andréa as well.

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Andy realized it started with a speech. The scathing "Cerulean" lecture in which Miranda called her on her ignorance and arrogance – and tore the fabric of all she'd naively held true to that point in her life. That's when the questions began, when she could no longer abide in the static place defined by a midwestern college girl's view of the world. It was the beginning of the end of her relationship with Nate and the birth of the perceptual transformation of Miranda and of herself.

Yes, she acknowledged that she had never been so completely humiliated in her life, and the resulting embarrassment and anger fit well within the scope of her emotional comfort. But there had been something more occurring, something that didn't sit well with what she knew of herself so she had dismissed it as irrelevant. Clearly though, it hadn't disappeared, for the narrowest of fissures had been created, allowing for that something indescribable that was bubbling deep within to leach silently into her subconscious. In hindsight Andy now saw that despite firmly trampling those fledgling glimmers of her new self and tossing them into an unlit corner of her mind, she couldn't discount their role as harbingers of things to come.

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Miranda looked for guidance in her own past thoughts and actions. Why had she never fired Andréa? She was not known for her patience with people who did not contribute to the environment of efficiency and order around her or who did not fit the meticulously crafted scene she had created at _Runway_, so why had she tolerated it with Andréa? And those were the least of her transgressions! The girl had actually had the gall to pass judgment on her entire industry and all Miranda had done was verbally smack her down, leaving her bruised but still within her realm.

_Why?_

She returned her gaze to Andréa and began to walk slowly around the enigmatic offering before her. Never had she been presented with such a…

_Hmm._ She struggled with the "what" of it. What _does_ one call this… this presentation, this offer, this… _gift_? Perhaps she needed not to worry so much about defining it as she needed to make a decision about how to proceed.

She reviewed her options. There was the obvious, the expected course: she could send the young woman away. No, she _should _send her away. It's what everyone would expect of her after all. But the gut-wrenching ache that surfaced at the mere thought was answer enough.

_So… one down._

Another response, this also a socially acceptable alternative, was to turn away and pretend as if the last twelve hours had never happened. Just dive straight into a discussion of the next day's schedule before demanding Andréa bring her coffee from that little café across the street.

She pursed her lips and acknowledged that she didn't want coffee right now.

In fact, a single-malt sounded much more attractive. With one last gaze at the woman who had yet to lift her head, so patiently awaiting her fate, she walked the few paces into the dining area, heading to a sideboard next to the dining table where a full bar was situated.

She poured herself a single finger only, as she knew she needed to keep her wits about her, leaned back, legs crossed and one elbow resting on the highly polished surface of the elaborately carved wooden cabinet, and gave free rein to her eyes as they greedily traveled the length of Andréa's body.

Miranda willed her lips to curve upwards, attempting, through conscious manipulation of her body, to offset her discomfiture with a cockiness she really did not feel because even accepting that a third alternative existed was pure folly. She took a small sip of the potent liquid and swirled it in her mouth, letting its flavor explode across her tongue. Humming slightly in satisfaction, she tried to steady her mind because this option frankly caused her brain to stumble. Could she? Could she act on something she'd only ever considered in her safely kept and closely held fantasies? A minor tremor caused the glass to shake slightly as parts long thought to be in hibernation if not well-embalmed, clenched in sympathetic response to the images created in her very active imagination.

Would it be so difficult? Even as Miranda pondered her ability to rise to the occasion, a realization slammed home. She'd already been doing it. Granted, not to this extreme, but she could see that they'd been playing a game for the last month at least. Only now Andréa had stripped away all pretense and boldly dropped her request at Miranda's feet.

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When Andy heard Miranda move away she had to suppress a gasp of disappointment as well as a burning need to look up and see what the editor was doing. Instead she focused once again on the carpet and on what she was able to discern just from the long moments since she'd instigated this turn in their interaction. Though she couldn't see the clock she could tell that at least ten minutes had passed since she'd made her request. That she hadn't been tossed out on her ass she considered a favorable sign.

She stifled a sigh, because with Miranda you just never knew for sure. She might simply be letting Andy stew, just to get back at her for leaving earlier, before she kicked her out and had her blacklisted. But that inner voice that almost always guided her on the correct path (when she took the time to actually listen to it), assured her that Miranda was not being arbitrarily cruel right now. So bolstered, she waited, using what she had learned from many years of practicing Tae Kwan Do to focus again on the center of calm that allowed her to maintain her position with a minimum of discomfort.

The sound of Miranda humming in obvious pleasure at whatever liquor she was drinking nearly undid her resolve. Scrabbling for something to take her mind off of the utter sensuality of the sound, Andy thought back to a recent interaction between them. Perhaps, after the "Cerulean" speech it was the most transformative.

About a month before Paris and shortly after the Harry Potter triumph Andy had been delivering The Book when she came upon the twins in the hall as she stepped into the townhouse. They'd not really spoken when she dropped the manuscripts off to them at Grand Central and the three of them stood frozen, staring at one another, until the girls, in harmony, dropped their eyes to the floor and mumbled an apology. To say that she was floored was an understatement, but she thanked them as she moved to put the dry cleaning into the closet. Cassidy opened the closet door for her and Andy smiled one of her beaming smiles, causing the girl to blush.

"Thank you… Cassidy is it?" She'd seen the girls in the office a couple of times and took care to pay attention when Miranda addressed them, noting the slight differences in freckling and height and the huge difference in temperament. "You didn't have to do that, but I appreciate it."

The girl looked up in shock, all embarrassment forgotten as Caroline slid next to her sister and gazed at her. "How do you know she's not Caroline and _**I'm**_ not Cassidy?"

Flashing her widest smile, Andy laughed. "If I told you that you'd probably find a way to make me wish I hadn't."

If her expression was any indication, Caroline was about to issue a denial, but was preempted by Miranda's voice floating down the hall. "Cassidy, Caroline, aren't you supposed to be in bed? Or do I need to come back out there?"

Andy laughed at how quickly the girls dashed up the winding stairs but sobered as she heard the quiet "Andréa, come here." The command made her pivot on her heel immediately and without thought.

After joining the editor in the sitting room and handing over the mock-up, she placed herself in what she had come to call "Miranda parade rest." Not quite at attention but attentive with back straight, head slightly down, and her hands behind her back. On this night the blouse that she wore gapped more severely than normal as her stretched arms pulled at the fabric.

They stood in silence. Andy had looked up after it had gone on longer than usual, stunned to see Miranda seemingly fixated on her chest. She squirmed slightly, hyperaware of a telltale dampness between her legs, the quantity of which increased when a slight scowl on Miranda's face and pursing lips preceded the ice blue eyes as they rose to skewer her own. Andy's fidgeting ceased immediately even as her inner thigh muscles clenched against an internal throbbing.

Whatever else was said that evening was immaterial, but the internal conversation that Andy had as she made her way home via the subway forced her to admit a few truths.

One. She realized that she responded without thought to Miranda's cues of displeasure.

Two. She found that she wanted to please Miranda, no matter what.

Three. She experienced an odd sort of sensual pleasure at being the object of Miranda's sole focus.

Four. When she knew that Miranda was pleased with her it made her hot in a way that no one else had ever managed.

So bothered was she that the dreams she'd been having almost since starting at _Runway_, which until that point had been mere shadow images beyond her memory's grasp in the waking world, began to sharpen and remain accessible during the day. The week following what she now called the "gapping blouse" incident saw those dreams seep into her daily life, intruding upon the few quiet moments between errands and run-throughs. Even though the images were often disjointed and fleeting, a mix of visual and sensory, they managed to shake her to her core.

For this was not the Andy she thought herself to be. No, Andy would never desire to have her hands bound behind her back, never want someone to deliver a stinging slap to her bare bottom, never desire to kneel before someone.

_Never._ Not sweet, innocent Andy from Cincinnati, Ohio.

The resulting conflict resulted in her being jumpy and distracted more than usual - to the point that Nate, who was exceedingly self-absorbed, actually noticed.

_Nate._

Andy shifted slightly, just enough to keep the circulation flowing, as it now had to be at least fifteen minutes since her impetuous and wildly inappropriate act.

Nate, she now realized, would never have worked, even if no Miranda had entered the picture; it probably would have just taken her longer to figure it out. Never had she been as turned on with him, naked with him pleasuring her, as she had been clothed and at rest in front of a stern Miranda. So it was after that week of distracted and twitchy hell that Andy had decided that she needed to understand more about the dynamic of herself in relation to Miranda Priestly because at some point she had realized that the "someone" present in most if not all of those snippets of longing was not faceless or nameless. Of course she conveniently ignored that one occasion that she had got herself off with thoughts of Miranda running through her head.

Having no idea who to talk to, she turned to the internet, using her laptop at home on those nights when Nate was scheduled to close at the restaurant. She didn't know where to start, didn't have the vocabulary to plug into a search engine, as this was so far beyond the realm in which she was raised and to which she had been exposed since leaving home. So she started with S&M.

_Oookay_. That had been an eye-opener. But most all of it, with a few notable exceptions, felt disingenuous and frankly made her feel sick to her stomach. The last thing Andy wanted to see was some man glorifying his power over a woman - that happened enough in real life; that there was so much of it out there almost caused her to shut her laptop and forget all about it. But that voice inside of her wouldn't let her be and as she continued her research she found other words, other acronyms, like D/s, which led her finally to several sites that explored what it meant to be a submissive. Whereas the sex and kink sites were at times shocking, unsettling, and occasionally arousing, the feelings evoked merely rumbled like a storm on the horizon. It was the online journal of one submissive in particular that cracked like a thunderclap directly above her head, blowing her mind and shaking her to her very core because, once the initial tumult receded, Andy realized that the other woman's words could have been her own.

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Miranda swirled the golden liquid, staring as if mesmerized by the shifting, swirling shapes constantly moving and changing. She knew enough about who she was to understand that she was not going to send Andréa away, either with anger or feigned ignorance. Once that was acknowledged, acceptance was quick to follow.

Now. _What to do?_

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The sharp sound of a heavy glass hitting wood startled Andy from her reminiscence. Her palms began to sweat and her thighs began to quiver. Could it be that Miranda had decided? But the adrenalin slowly drained from her system after several long moments in which nothing changed except that she could now hear Miranda's breathing. The desire to look up was nearly impossible to resist now as all the cues available to Andy's senses seemed to indicate that Miranda was truly struggling; it was only by focusing once again upon her memories that Andy found from within the restraint.

This time she was transported back to the fight Nate and she had had only two weeks before.

Andy had just walked in the door and was setting her bag on the round table that served as both desk and dining surface. Nate was on the couch, her laptop in front of him. She thought nothing of it; he often used her laptop to look up recipes since his had died the month before and he was saving for a new hard drive.

"Hey, Nate, how's it going?" Andy was distracted and didn't really look at him, but the sharpness of his response cut through her preoccupation.

"What?" She turned to face him fully and leaned against the rickety table.

Nate rolled his eyes at her and then regarded her with a strange mix of sadness, disbelief, and disgust. "I said, is there anything you'd like to tell me?"

Andy swore her heart nearly skipped a beat as she quickly catalogued everything on that computer. Fortunately her journal was password protected so nothing too revealing written in her own hand was accessible. Pondering her search history she reassured herself that she'd used a browser that didn't use tracking cookies and so stared at him for a moment, shrugging with a nonchalance she hoped would be enough.

"What are you talking about?"

Nate grumbled under his breath, "What am I talking about?" Then after a few clicks of the mouse started to read, "She told me to 'assume the position,' which means on all fours, so I did quickly, positioning my ass perfectly with my arms outstretched on the bed above my head. I waited for what felt like hours when a sharp slap stung the softest part of my buttocks, sending a torrent of liquid gushing from my pussy as my clit jumped to attention. Four more slaps and my mistress asked, 'What do you need, my dirty little girl?' 'More please mistress.'"

Andy could only stare in shock. _How the hell did he find that?_ With a sinking feeling she realized she'd protected everything else from prying eyes but not a few stabs at creative writing.

"What the actual fuck, Andy?"

"Nate, look, it's just fantasy." Andy tried to placate.

"I don't understand!" He stood and paced in front of her. "Why do you need that sick, deviant…"

Andy swallowed convulsively against the acid rising in her stomach.

He turned sharply and glared at her as his hands tore frantically through his perpetually messy hair. "Does that turn you on?! I know we haven't been tearing it up lately in bed, but shit, is that why? Am I not _**sick**_ enough for you?"

Andy felt that last part like a slap to her face and she straightened. "Nate! Stop it!" She moved in closer to him but still left enough room to throw her hands out and upward in disgust. "I'm not going to take this. I haven't done anything wrong, so show me some damn respect!"

"Yeah, like you're showing yourself any respect. Seriously?! Answer me. Does this turn you on?" His voice has softened somewhat, nearly pleading, and Andy willed strength to every muscle ready to collapse.

She straightened her spine and looked him in the eye. "Yes. It does."

The look he gave her made her understand that they were truly over. It had been inevitable, but still the actual ending of it was more difficult than she had ever imagined.

"Look…"

Nate put a hand up. "No. Don't. I…" He pushed a hand through his shaggy hair. "I don't know who you are anymore. And after reading _**that**_, and hearing that you aren't ashamed, I don't want to."

He stomped out of the room in a manner that reminded Andy of her three year old nephew and she stood still, thinking perhaps that the feeling within her now was what people described as shock.

He slept on the couch that night and left the next morning.

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When she stopped to think about it now she recognized that a part of her wanted Nate to find her writing. She'd had no clue how to end it with him, and had even lied to him in that final argument; she did feel guilty, but not because of her desires, but rather because in her mind she had been so unfaithful to their relationship. So that and the fear of change had kept her chained in silence.

This led Andy to contemplate the various shades of "silence" as anything was better than obsessing on the twinge in her lower back that shot a sharp but short-lived pain through her body. She'd never done particularly well with silence before coming to New York, before Miranda. It was from her boss that she'd learned the value of the spaces between words and that editing wasn't only about what was written. Like now, the value of this particular silence was beyond price not only because she was accepting it but also because she had chosen it.

It was strikingly different from the silence experienced after the luncheon where all she could do was jut out her bottom lip and fumble for the words to defend herself.

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The discussion that afternoon with Miranda in the car coupled with the ever present undercurrent between them, with all of the unspoken words and ritualistic-like behaviors had confused her greatly. When Miranda told her that she could see beyond herself to what people needed, it confounded her. How could _she_ be that?

Then the "everybody wants to be us" line had pushed her over the edge, as if Miranda was including Andy in her inner circle. It sparked every fantasy only to have them burst like water balloons because how could she possibly trust Miranda after what she had done to someone who was perhaps the closest adult to her? That realization threw Andy into a despair so agonizing that all she could think to do to stop the pain was to remove herself from its source.

So she ran.

Well, it was more like a determined walk, but it was in the opposite direction of the one human being that had come to mean more to her than anyone else ever had. At the fountain her phone began ringing and she chanced a glimpse back, a brief moment frozen when their eyes locked. The disbelief on Miranda's face made her feel both wretched and triumphant. She'd surprised a woman who was never taken unawares. But then, in a way, she always had. Andy's triumph evaporated into the mist-laden chill of the Parisian air when, in the second before Andy turned away, she caught a fleeting glimpse of despairing regret before it was buried beneath the icy façade.

So she turned away, the ringing of her phone beginning yet again. Already the guilt of her actions began to build and she nearly threw the phone into the fountain, but it was a thread that still connected her to the powerful force of nature that had turned her world on its head. She couldn't let that go. So she walked, phone clutched in a death grip, although she did turn it off as the text messages had started and she couldn't deal.

An hour later saw her wandering aimlessly. Nothing looked familiar. The feeling of hopeless sadness that had been lurking just below the surface since she exited the car broke free of its numbing cage and slithered up her spine to settle firmly in her throat, constricting it, and behind her eyeballs, burning them with water like acid.

Andy realized that she was crumbling and forced her focus outward enough to take in the details of the cobblestone sidestreet down which she had turned. Sandy-colored plaster-faced five- and six-story buildings rose on all sides, their upper floors sticking out slightly farther than their lower levels, harkening back to those centuries when hygiene was defined by less stringent parameters and all manner of waste was pitched out the windows to fester in the street. A weathered hand-painted sign caught her attention and, hoping for some sort of café in which she could sit and hide in a corner, she moved closer. A disappointed sigh escaped her chilled lips as the sign indicated it was a bookstore, but it was the only establishment on this particular street that could offer any kind of sanctuary. After a short debate Andy decided it was better than nothing; maybe they'd have a bathroom she could lock herself in as her walls were caving in and the instinctive need to find safety propelled her final steps and guided her hand to pull at the heavy wooden door.

The space was low-ceilinged, dark, and quiet, and Andy felt a small amount of tension release. She pushed farther in, looking around, as her body greedily sucked in the warmth. Noting some movement out of the corner of her eye, she found an older woman behind a small counter reading a book. They made brief eye contact and the woman looked at her with mild curiosity. Mumbling in heavily accented French that she just wanted to look around, Andy moved towards the back after receiving an assenting nod, opting to find the water closet on her own.

What she found instead was a small seating area with a bar area stocked with a thermal carafe of liquid she hoped was coffee. Taking one of the mismatched ceramic mugs sitting next to it, she poured the hot, dark substance and settled into one of the oversized chairs as the tears she'd fought to contain finally released, hot tracks pouring steadily onto her still chilled cheeks. She sat there, staring into the mug that gradually was drained, and viewed the events of the past weeks as though they were a movie. At some point she got up to replenish her cup, finding the bitterness of the liquid a welcome accompaniment to her mood.

Eventually her thoughts circled around and landed on the hours before. The day had started with betrayal; actually the betrayal had begun the night before with Stephen's cowardly divorce declaration via email. Then it was Christian's of Miranda, Irv's of Miranda, then Miranda's of Nigel.

As Andy followed this line of thinking, she viewed her own actions, her walking away, from a different angle and she gasped, her second steaming cup landing with a thunk on the small side table as she realized that Miranda could very well see this abandonment as Andy betraying her as well. After two hours of sitting and considering her life, this is what it came down to, what it would always come down to: Miranda. The idea of betraying Miranda was so devastating that she was willing to risk her own heart to show her that she really hadn't and that she never would.

Once the decision was made the blanket of despair in which she'd cloaked herself fell away, as did her disconnect. Aimlessness was replaced with resolve and the space in which she had sought refuge felt more like a jail cell.

She couldn't get back to the hotel fast enough.

But she had no idea where she was and she had no desire to walk one step further in shoes that enhanced her height by a good four inches. She searched her tiny bag, relieved to find a few Euros placed in her purse for emergencies, and was able to have a taxi called for her.

She had a few minutes before her transport would arrive so Andy took the time to find the water closet. When she flipped on the light in the small space, the single overhead bulb illuminated an image in the mirror that took her aback. Her eyes were red-rimmed and her mascara was smudged and had tracked down each cheek with her tears.

She grabbed some scratchy toilet paper and attempted to repair the worst of it, but even then it was still obvious she'd spent a good part of the past hour crying. She fixed her wind-swept hair as best she could, then straightening her shoulders, she resolved to maintain what little was left of her composure until she was back in her room.

When she arrived at the hotel she had no idea what she was going to do. How she was going explain her lapse? She was waiting for the elevator when the doors opened and Nigel, who was preparing to step out, saw her, grabbed her arm, and pulled her back in, stabbing at the button for their floor.

"What the hell is going on, Six?" Nigel looked both concerned and disgruntled.

Andy couldn't help the tears that started yet again. Nigel handed her the handkerchief from his lapel pocket but she refused. "I'll get mascara all over it."

"Eh"—he shoved it into her hands—"it'll die a worthy death. Take it; you need it."

Despite the tears she managed a slight chuckle and dabbed at her eyes as the elevator came to a stop.

Nigel followed her to her room and took the keycard from her shaking hand when it became apparent she couldn't keep it steady enough to disengage the lock.

Once in the room she kicked off her shoes and folded her body onto the small settee, pulling her knees up to her chin as she gathered the full material of her dress close to her body so as not to give Nigel a show.

Nigel, allowing her several minutes to compose herself, rested on the edge of her bed, hands on his knees, watching her carefully.

After a stretch of many minutes, he prompted her, "What happened? Why did you leave her?"

Andy's head whipped up so fast she swore she heard her vertebrae crunch into one another. "Don't you mean _Runway_?" She bit her lip and stared.

Andy watched as he met her eyes and held them steadily. "No," he said, clearly choosing his words carefully. "I meant Miranda. I've been watching you both for a while now…"

"Nothing's going on!" Andy was panicking. How could he know how she felt?!

Nigel held up his hands. "Okay, okay. But, nonetheless, you have feelings for her, right?"

"Nigel, I…" Andy had no idea what to say. How could she admit to him what she was barely able to admit to herself? She was in love with Miranda.

"Six." He reconsidered. "Andy, you wouldn't be the first person to fall for her, you know."

Andy blushed.

"Let me guess. That little stunt she pulled with me today knocked her straight off that pedestal you had her resting on, right?"

Andy shook her head no, but contradicted the action with her words. "Well maybe, just a little bit of that is mixed in, but no, I don't think I had her on a pedestal. No. That's not why I left."

Nigel's tone was softer now. "So why? Was it in a fit of self-righteous anger? Because I don't expect that from you. I understand what happened."

Andy looked up then, surprised. "You do?"

"Yes, we talked. After you made your grand exit, she didn't stay for the show. We both left and found a little bistro not far from the hotel. She told me it was sacrifice my job with James or lose _Runway_. So, I get it. It was shitty and it hurt but it was the only hand she had left to play. It was business, not personal."

"Did she apologize?"

Nigel's countenance lightened a fraction. "Apologize? Hmm, I guess what Miranda said to me could be construed as an apology even if she didn't actually say the words 'I'm sorry.' I don't know that Miranda has ever apologized to anyone other than her daughters or one of her unfortunate choices of husband."

Andy considered Nigel's words and felt even better about returning. Now, she just had to figure out how to do it.

"Do you think she'll take me back?"

Nigel smirked. "For someone who hasn't yet admitted that she has feelings for her boss, that's an interesting choice of words."

Andy blushed again. "Yeah, well…" She let the thought trail off and opted to ignore it. "Do you?"

Nigel looked critically at the disheveled young woman before him and thought about all the times that Miranda could have, no, should have, fired her and shook his head, partially out of wonderment.

"Yes, Andy, I think there's a good chance that she will. But it really depends upon you, about why you've come back, and what you'll tell her is the reason you came back. I believe you need to tell her the truth, but that is entirely up to you. I understand it wouldn't be the easy road. Miranda Priestly is not an easy person to love."

Andy's mouth gaped. "Are you seriously telling me I should tell her that I'm in…"

She clamped down ruthlessly on the words, not so much because she was embarrassed, but because she felt that regardless of how it might turn out, the first time she said that she loved Miranda was going to be to her face.

"…that I have feelings for her?" Her voice rose an octave. "Like, just tell her?" She licked bone dry lips then pursed them, drawing a short bark of laughter from Nigel.

She glowered at him. "This isn't funny."

"Oh, Six, I know it's not, truly. It was more that I found amusing that look you just flashed me. You've been studying Our Lady for some time now, haven't you?"

"Um." Andy had no idea what to say to that so once again changed directions. "Where is she now? Is she sticking with the rest of her schedule?" That she was not next to Miranda at that very minute sent a stab of sadness through her. She needed to be near her almost as badly as she needed to be able to take her next breath.

"She's at the Medina show now, that up and coming, but small fashion house. Then she will be back here to change for dinner, although I don't believe she really wants to go. I have a feeling that if given the right motivation she may be persuaded to dine in this evening."

Andy just stared at him. "Nigel," her voice firmed, "what do you know?"

With a sly smile and twinkling eyes he evaded, "Know? I don't know a great many things about the woman who's been my friend for over twenty years."

"Damn it, Nige, spill it! What did she say?"

"She didn't _**say**_ anything, but she didn't have to. Like I said, I've known her a very long time and I've never seen her this upset at an assistant, especially a second assistant, who quit. Dare I say I also know that it's not Stephen's leaving that is the reason. _**You**_ have gotten to her. I don't know what that means, but I think if you don't find out you'll always wonder."

"But, Nigel, I could lose everything."

Gently, so as not to spook her, Nigel shook his head and gazed at her with sympathetic eyes. "Andy, if you leave here without talking to Miranda, you will have lost her anyway, so you might as well try."

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continued in Chapter 2


	2. Chapter 2

_Disclaimers and Ratings: Disclaimers for DWP ownership found in chapter 1. This chapter once again explores adult themes but probably could be seen as mostly PG-13. Props to Firebird93 for her beta-work!_

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**Chapter 2**

After Nigel left, Andy shed her couture and hopped into the shower. Once out she dressed carefully in a deep green off the shoulder, cowl-neck cashmere sweater, the cut of which necessitated either a strapless bra or nothing at all; she opted for the latter. Her pants were a wide-legged, dark golden cotton-silk blend that hung low on her hips, held up by a drawstring. Leaving her hair down, she applied just the barest hint of makeup. She forewent mascara, given her unfortunate disposition for tears in the last few hours. She attempted to put on shoes, but her feet were desperately sore from all of her earlier walking so she kept them bare for the time being, intending to put on a pair of caramel colored, low-heeled Chanel half-boots right before she went to see Miranda.

Still unsure of how to proceed and desperately nervous, Andy paced her room, constantly seeking out the numbers on the digital clock next to her bed. When it was about thirty minutes before Miranda was slated to arrive, Andy opened the door to the adjoining room and left it wide open. She was done hiding, in spite of the fact that she was scared spitless. Another fifteen minutes of pacing and her aching feet were screaming at her, so she sat against a few propped pillows on her bed and waited.

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Miranda Priestly was as pretty close to miserable as she had ever been in her adult life. Betrayed by many around her and forced by the situation and her need to maintain her position as editor to in turn betray one of her closest friends, she arrived back at her hotel in a foul mood. Of course the headache that had been with her on and off since… As she exited the black Mercedes, she faltered. Was _she_ already here, in the room next to hers, or was she still on the streets, who knows where? Despite the hollow disappointment left by the girl's departure, she couldn't help but be concerned about her well-being.

Prodded by an internal sneer at her weakness, Miranda straightened and strode into the lobby like her birthright was a monarchy. It did not matter to her what that silly child was doing; she didn't work for her anymore and it's not like she actually cared about her. _Right? _ Her lashes fluttered shut and she pursed her lips as she stood waiting at the elevators, disgusted that she was engaging in such a useless endeavor as lying to herself.

Upon opening her eyes she caught her reflection in the highly polished golden metal of the elevator doors, and she was shocked at the air of defeat that surrounded her. Not that anyone else could tell, as her sunglasses hid most of the truth from the uninformed, but to her it was a striking lack of poise and she shifted minutely while waiting, very much wanting to be away from prying eyes.

The ride up to her floor was silent as she was thankfully alone. Huh, that was certainly true enough; she really was alone. Why she'd even allowed a kernel of a thought that maybe something more was building between Andr… She mentally stuttered at her name. Would she ever even see her again? The possibility that she would not created a hollow ache that slowed her steps to a listless shuffle that caused her heels to nearly catch on the carpet of the hallway leading to her room.

_Andréa_. There, her mind had said it, and by all that was holy, she missed her already. Biting back the tears that now threatened, Miranda unlocked the suite's door and exhaled in relief as she crossed the threshold, glad to be in a space in which she could let go of all the trappings and mourn without interruption.

Because that's what it felt like, a death of some sort, and her heart actually hurt. The anger that had ebbed somewhat came roaring back, so much so that the key card fell from nerveless fingers onto the bureau in the entrance hall as her purse slid from her shoulder and down her arm, landing heavily on the furniture she now relied upon to remain upright, bracing both hands against it to steady herself. She stood there for who knows how long, burning with an anger that had no outlet. Defeat slumped her shoulders as recognition that she had completely misjudged the girl cycled her anger rapidly back to hurt and then to sadness. She had trusted only to have it tossed back once again into her face.

Kicking her shoes off her feet with no care as to where they landed, she finally pushed her body away from its place of respite, deciding that she could at least be more comfortable in her misery. The elaborate dress that draped so wonderfully on her figure and had felt so decadent earlier in the day now felt like a straightjacket, and she contorted her body to get at the zipper that would release her as she entered the main living area of her suite. She'd made it halfway to her bedroom when she realized the door joining Andréa's room with her own was open.

The surge of hope and joy that greeted the discovery was quickly smacked down and sternly dismissed to a dark corner. Shoring her defenses for the coming confrontation, she abandoned the zipper parted halfway down her back and straightened her shoulders, striding quickly to the open door, a stinging rebuke poised on the tip of her tongue.

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Utterly exhausted, dark hair loose and spread across the pillows, Andy fell into a hard sleep plagued with images of an angry Miranda hissing a scathing soliloquy of her worthlessness. Crying and shaking, she ran from the luncheon, flying down the steps and onto the sidewalk only to find that the sidewalk turned into a main thoroughfare and that she was now trapped in the middle of a busy street with cabs whizzing by her at high speeds. She spun dizzily, trying to find a way out, only to discover that Miranda had hunted her down, continuing to mock her for her pathetic little feelings. "Please!" Andy barely recognized her own voice as a desperate scream for mercy. "Please." This time it was a mournful cry.

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Miranda watched for nearly a full minute as Andréa, curled around one of the pillows that she had pulled against her belly, moved restlessly on the top of the covers. It was obvious that whatever was occurring in her dream world was distressing to her and Miranda scoffed at her own weakness when she felt her heart ache at Andréa's obvious pain. Despite the self-rebuke, the desire for Andréa to be free of her torment drove her to stride across the room with the intent of rousing her.

"Andréa." It was said in her normal voice but appeared to have no effect. The grip of the dream and the girl's probable exhaustion were keeping her locked away from the waking world.

"Andréa, wake up!" This time it was louder and projected with more force and the result was immediate.

"Miranda!" Andy sat up straight and looked wildly around her, finally focusing on the woman staring at her with an inscrutable look upon her face. "Oh god, I dreamt…" Her eyes filled with tears and a near wild panic as she realized that she had not dreamed up the entire day, that all of the traumatic events had in fact occurred.

"Pull yourself together and meet me in my room in ten minutes. Not a moment sooner." Miranda snapped the command like a sheet on a clothesline in a gale force wind and turned on her heel, closing the door connecting their rooms as she exited.

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Andy took a moment to calm her beating heart, then moved to the bathroom to wash her face and, yet again, reapply her makeup. She contemplated that perhaps the exchange with Miranda was an incremental victory since she hadn't been summarily dismissed. _At least she wants to talk to me._

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Miranda stormed into her bedroom and nearly tore the zipper on her couture as she removed it. She was positively livid at her weakness in the face of Andréa's obvious anguish and cursed and chastised herself for even asking Andréa to join her. Why hadn't she just told her to leave? Why hadn't she banished her from this hotel and forever from her life?

All thoughts of comfortable clothes forgotten, Miranda removed the dress and replaced it with a gunmetal gray silk blouse with a plunging neckline beneath a severe black pinstriped pantsuit. She reapplied her makeup, taking special care to ensure that her sharpest countenance was projected. Miranda was very aware of the intimidating figure she now presented and counted upon it to compensate if she should find her resolve faltering during the imminent confrontation. Whatever was to come she was not going to make this easy for the girl.

Sparing a glimpse at the clock, she saw that twelve minutes had passed since she'd issued her directive, but instead of moving to the outer room she lingered, leisurely exchanging the jewelry that complimented her previous outfit with a simple platinum chain and matching drop earrings both understated in their elegance. Only after nearly five more minutes passed did she emerge, confident that Andréa would be waiting, probably still standing, as she'd likely be too worried about inciting any further negative reactions to sit.

Walking into the living area, she smirked, reassured by being able to so readily predict the actions of her erstwhile assistant. But any satisfaction died quickly when she was reminded of why they were in this current predicament: as evidenced by the day's events, Andréa wasn't always predictable.

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It was that glower that Andy's eyes first fell upon when she looked up and caught the steely gaze of the woman now directly in front of her. They were both now standing in the space on the other side of the coffee table placed in front of the sofa, locked in a silent stare down.

Andy broke first. "Miranda, I'm so sorry…" Her eyes we full of tears and her bottom lip trembled.

"No." It was firm and sharp and barely louder than her normal speaking voice, yet it might well have been shouted for the reaction it caused. Andy bowed her head as she ruthlessly forced her mouth to stop moving.

"I don't quite believe I understand why you are still here. After all, you were in such a hurry to rid yourself of my presence only hours ago. I do wonder why you feel that you deserve to still be under the same roof, remaining in the luxury of a room paid for by the magazine you so impetuously abandoned and worse, believing you have retained any right to take liberties by invading my living space."

"Miranda, I have to explain. Please just…"

"Oh no, no." Miranda's smile dripped with disdain. There was a part of her that was curious as to what the girl was about to say, but she was determined not to concede any ground. "I've not yet asked you to speak, have I?"

Andy dropped her eyes and shook her head in the negative as she desperately tried to regroup.

"Let's see, where was I? Oh. Right." Her voice took on that desiccated quality that Andy hadn't heard directed at her since the "Cerulean" speech. "You decided you were once again too good for us flawed mortals. The thought of being anything like me at all was so horrifying that you just had to drop everything, including your good sense apparently, and run away as fast as you could. Well. I am so, so _**sorry**_ to have disappointed you." Miranda knew she was being harsh, but it hurt that the girl obviously wanted nothing to do with her. _Although if that were true, why is she here?_ That was the part that she needed to get to because something wasn't adding up.

Andy's outrage at the egregious misinterpretation of her actions caused her to break her silence.

"Miranda, no! That wasn't why I left! It was me!" She winced at how loudly her voice rang through the room and looked down, realizing her feet were still bare. Shaking her head, she marveled at how this woman could completely wreck her composure, but modified her tone to nearly a whisper. "I couldn't handle it anymore."

Miranda took a moment to decipher this latest cryptic remark, but still was no closer to understanding. "You couldn't handle 'it'? Please, Andréa, do try to be a bit more precise."

Andy shifted nervously and searched for the words, which wasn't the problem actually. No, it was her courage that was sorely lacking, not to mention her attention. In spite of her discombobulation a part of her brain acknowledged Miranda's attire and tripped, short-circuiting her verbal abilities. "Um…"

"Oh, your eloquence is as impressive as always." Miranda waved a hand in the air, turned around, and walked over to the window, feigning disinterest. If there was one thing she knew would bother Andréa more than anything else it would be that she was going to dismiss her. She paused a millisecond to ponder why she would even care enough to have an understanding of her second assistant's psyche but the moment passed when her thoughts were interrupted.

"Miranda, I am really sorry. It was a mistake." The voice was pleading and Miranda's hand tightened on the windowsill.

"Yes." She turned around and looked at Andréa once again. "But why exactly are you sorry and what are you so sorry for?"

"I'm sorry that you're hurt because I abandoned you."

Miranda narrowed her eyes. "Do not presume to know what it is I feel about this unfortunate inconvenience. Do not make yourself more important than you really are." Miranda internally winced. Okay, that was probably harsher than she intended but she felt there was something more going on and the roundabout way they were getting to the point was irritating her. Never mind that it unsettled her greatly that Andréa could read her as well as she did.

Andy internally crumbled. Maybe she had misjudged the whole situation. Maybe the connection she swore they shared _was_ all in her head_. Oh god, I've really fucked this up; I should never have come back! _Dejected, she turned away, wanting to try to gather at least a few shreds of her tattered dignity before even that was crushed under the heels of The Devil.

Miranda was not prepared for the air of defeat that seemingly sucked all of the life from her former employee and… was she really going to leave?! _Unacceptable! _Harshly, she barked, "I did not dismiss you!"

Andy spun around quickly, all composure or restraint gone. "You didn't dismiss…? For fuck's sake, why would I wait for something that has already happened? You _**have**_ dismissed me. You dismissed me last night!" The final two words were spat out in a near shout.

Miranda recoiled as if she'd been slapped and when Andréa looked as if she really was going to turn around and walk out, she felt an uncharacteristic moment of panic. "Andréa, wait!" When her words seemed to stop the pending retreat, she paused for a moment and modulated her voice to a more neutral tone.

"I don't understand." Miranda winced again, chagrined at how harshly her words still managed to cut through the air between them. She gentled her voice ever so slightly more while maintaining what she hoped was a neutral expression. "Explain."

Andy studied Miranda closely as she took several deep breaths in an effort to try to find some sense of balance. Miranda confounded her even while she believed she understood her more than anyone else did. She pondered that thought for a moment, and nearly laughed at her own lack of self-control, for she had completely lost sight of her understanding of the language of Miranda. She had forgotten that it was second nature for Miranda to protect her private face by constructing an impervious shield crafted with derisive language and mocking tones. Looking closer now she could see that slight twitch in the corner of her left eye and the tightening of the jaw. Andy _did_ get to her. Miranda _did_ care very much.

For the first time since the evening before, when Miranda opened up about her girls, Andy felt safe with Miranda. But there were so many unanswered questions with no guarantee that Miranda would actually believe Andy if she just came out and told her that she loved her, that she wanted her as a lover, and that she was accepting of the dynamic that had been growing between them and was interested in exploring it. But how? How to cut through all the established expectations, ask for forgiveness, and have it be accepted as a genuine request while also making clear that she wanted their relationship to move to an entirely different level?

They maintained their regard of one another but Andy could tell that the silence between them was beginning to make Miranda unsure and Andy knew she had maybe at most five more seconds to act before the next barrage. It came to her in a flash, a recollection of one of her waking dreams, and it was so outrageous that she dared not give it a second thought because surely all common sense and propriety would quash it. Instead she gave in and decided to trust her instincts. Pride be damned.

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Miranda observed closely as fluttered eyelashes and quivering full lips spoke a language just on the edge of her interpretative abilities. It was now fairly obvious that Andréa hadn't left her because she despised her or that she felt anything negative at all; the anguish in her voice and the defeated air when she thought she was being sent away pointed to greater feelings kept just beyond her sight. But Miranda hadn't gotten as far as she had in life by accepting the visage that others presented her and as she considered the puzzle before her she was forced to dredge up a theory. This wasn't the first time it had surfaced; over the past couple of months a passing thought would associate itself with Andréa on the heels of a particular look or tone of voice, but she had dismissed it every time due to its impossibility.

Andréa had feelings, romantic feelings, for her. It was one of the only explanations that made sense. Andréa's hesitation to explain her actions or motivations was not because she had screwed up and was hoping to find a way to salvage some sort of career. No, she was hiding something much more difficult to reveal.

Or was that truly it? Doubt settled in once again.

Miranda didn't know what to think anymore. There were too many possibilities and with no clearly stated intentions or requests it was far too dangerous for her to contemplate this as a possibility. If she were wrong it could spark a disastrous series of events culminating in a dismissal that no list of loyal subjects presented to Irv would prevent and, of course, the ruination of just about every aspect of her life.

It was time to end this. Hating that she would no longer have Andréa in her life, she swallowed the rising despair and prepared the final barrage that would ensure that, if not her happiness, the constructs of her life would remain intact.

"Sur…" But before she had the opportunity to get even the first syllable beyond her lips, Andréa proved once again just how wonderfully unpredictable she could be.

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"Miranda! Please, before you say anything else, please let me just have one more moment of your time. If, at the end of what I have to say you still want me to go away, I will. Willingly."

The air between then crackled with electricity and Miranda was helpless to do anything but tilt her head once in assent.

"Thank you. Miranda, I said I left because I had to. At that moment the feelings inside of me became overwhelming and I just needed to get away to figure it all out. I didn't do it out of spite or anger over your sacrificing Nigel so you could keep _Runway_ or because I was repulsed by the idea of being anything like you." Andy's bottom lip trembled ever so slightly but she kept her dark eyes, still harboring a few stray tears, focused on those of the woman she loved with all her heart.

"I…I said earlier that I'd felt dismissed by you. When you told me last night to do my job it crushed me because I didn't want just to take care of all those little details that make your life easier, I wanted to be there for you. To support. To hug. To love."

Andy's lips quirked into a self-deprecating half smile as she noted the shock widening those ever-changing eyes that now took on the color of the sea just before a storm. "Yeah, ridiculous, isn't it?" Andy glanced away for just a second, gathering every scrap of calm and confidence she could dredge up. When she looked back she met Miranda's eyes with a steady, unwavering gaze and straightened purposefully then brought to the light of day the words she'd so wanted to say but never thought she'd have the chance to verbalize.

"I'm in love with you, Miranda. I want to be with you in every possible way and I want to be in your life however you will have me." She tilted her head down and regarded the carpet below her and, knowing that this next part was going to be particularly crucial, she clasped her hands behind her back and sank to her knees.

"I know I messed up today, Miranda. I acted without truly considering all of the consequences and I believe that I may have really hurt you. I am truly sorry and am willing to accept your judgment and punishment."

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continued in Chapter 3


	3. Chapter 3

_Disclaimers and Ratings: Disclaimers for DWP ownership found in chapter 1 and suffice it to say, it ain't me! This chapter contains graphic sexual situations that include the exploration of power in a D/s kind of way with a sprinkling of punishment included. If this is not your cup o' tea I'm sure there are only a hundred thousand other stories out there for you to enjoy! Rating is NC-17 or M and probably NSFW._

___A/N: I mentioned earlier that Firebird93 is my beta and that she has also shared her writing with the DWP community. When you read her story "Forgiveness" you may see that we shared a similar vision for Andy. My muse, one day this past February, provided me with a scene of Andy on her knees, head bowed, in willing submission awaiting Miranda's judgment. The fact that it wouldn't go away sparked this story. When I read "Forgiveness" I was struck by the brilliant serendipity of the creative universe and the wonderful manner in which different ways of interpreting a single image or scene may be developed, crafted and delivered!_

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**Chapter 3**

The first thought to careen through Miranda's mind almost caused her to giggle in a not so dignified manner. After all, wasn't she just bemoaning the ambiguity of the entire situation?

_So._

_Huh._

Miranda watched as a pink tongue slipped between luscious red lips before a flash of white teeth tugged lightly at the bottom lip. Slowly her power of observation was returning her to the place of equilibrium so startlingly disrupted by the actions of a young woman nearly half her age, but with perhaps more courage than the entire board of Elias Clark. She now faced a decision from which, once made, there would be no going back.

The mantle clock continued to mark the continuation of time and, she knew, would continue to do so regardless of her decision. The question was: could she live with the consequences? Knowing that this was not a decision to be made lightly, she considered everything asked with words and with actions.

Miranda tapped her fingers on the heavy high-ball glass and nodded slightly. She'd been correct earlier that day in the car; Andréa _did_ know her very well and had always somehow known just what she needed. This oftentimes seemingly impetuous younger woman had managed to cut through all of the bullshit, derive the truth, and then act with a decisiveness that surprised her.

Very admirable. Her respect for the young woman grew.

And so the contemplation began, leading her around the room and to the bar, as Andréa remained in place, kneeling, head down. _ For the love of all that's holy, I've got this beautiful woman literally at my feet, offering her body, her love, her submission to me!_

And so Miranda had sipped the alcohol and weighed the options, looking into the depths of the glass like it held all the answers.

She'd accepted that she wasn't going to send Andréa away.

_Now,_ w_hat to do?_

That question electrified every nerve ending, an arousal so intense that she was forced to set the glass down lest she drop it and plant her hands along the edge of the dining chair directly in front of her. The action recalled a little while earlier when she'd been so angry that she'd been forced to rely upon another piece of furniture to keep from pitching headfirst to the floor. Apparently this evening was to be of the sort that completely screwed with her equilibrium. But she granted herself a pardon, because never, ever, had she believed she would be in this position. Taking several moments to calm her rapid breathing and bring her racing heart back from trying to exit through her ribcage, she raised her head and looked around, wanting to memorize every little detail of this moment.

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The itch just on the right side of Andy's nose was back and she was trying really hard to ignore it but she'd been on the floor for what felt like a lifetime. Her thighs were starting to twitch, her neck was stiff and had an ache right above where her spine started, and, of course, there was that damnable itch. Who would have thought kneeling was so hard on the body?

But she realized she needed to let Miranda work it all out. The longer she was kept waiting the more confident she became that Miranda had decided to keep her around and was in the process of planning what to do with her. An internal moan and a full-body shiver accompanied that last thought, making her forget her physical discomfort. _Oh, please, please…_

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Something in Andréa's posture brought to mind that she'd been on her knees for a good bit of time and had to be uncomfortable. Miranda found herself touched by the idea of Andréa putting her body through this for her. So what was the delay exactly? Quite frankly, she had no idea what to actually do. Well, she knew what she'd always wanted to do when the girl had erred in some manner, but… _Well, isn't that what she is asking for?_

But shouldn't they talk first? Clearly establish boundaries and what they each wanted? She had no experience with this aside from emotions and fantasies, no idea of the rules for this type of a relationship. _And what if this is all Andréa wants?_

Miranda knew she wouldn't be satisfied if the only way they were to connect on a sensual/sexual level was in this particular exploration of power. She needed so much more and now it seemed to be within her reach, but she didn't want to kill it before it started. Hence this long, internal monologue.

Which, Miranda realized, must have settled something within because her course of action was suddenly simply _there_. Sure now of her path, she felt her lips move into a tight-lipped smile, nodded her head once, and strode confidently forward.

"I am very displeased and disappointed with you, Andréa."

Andy kept her head bowed, but some quality in Miranda's voice, a sensual, gravelly something that always managed to make her wet, sent a glimmer of hope shooting like quicksilver through her veins. She remained silent.

"Andréa. Look at me." Miranda gentled her voice for just a moment.

"Yes, Miranda." Andy tilted her head up and regarded her former boss with liquid eyes that communicated both sorrow and hope while the deep umber ring growing smaller as the black of her irises took over indicated arousal.

Miranda leaned over slightly and caressed Andy's cheek with the tips of her fingers, causing the long, dark eyelashes to blink rapidly and Miranda's heart to flutter in tandem.

"Are you certain?"

The strong fingers now cupping her chin nearly caused Andy to weep with relief but she focused on projecting no doubt, straightening and meeting Miranda's query with all of the confidence of what she knew about herself.

"Yes, Miranda. I'm certain." Hoping that Miranda would be able to see her resolve, Andy maintained the steady eye contact.

"Very well." Miranda firmed her voice once again. "Stand for me."

Andy found that her legs were fairly stiff and the joints didn't want to cooperate. She leaned forward and pushed, leveraging with her right leg. At any other time in her life rising wouldn't have been a problem, but then she'd never spent over twenty minutes kneeling on a floor, so she was unprepared when both of her legs refused to hold the burden of her weight, pitching her forward.

Into Miranda's arms.

Miranda had been standing in front of Andréa, watching every move like a hawk. Now that she'd been given permission, she would be looking at the beauty at every opportunity given. So when those long legs gave out she was there to catch her and they ended up wrapped up in one another, Miranda's hands slipping easily under the loose softness of that deep forest green sweater that both accentuated the pale skin and blended wonderfully with the dark waves of hair.

They stood there, neither in a hurry to move, breathing in the other's scent, feeling the strong, steady presence of the other. _Ah, and the skin_, Miranda thought, _oh so soft_. Her hands began a slow caress, first following the ridge of the spine upwards, mapping with her fingertips a terrain she was hoping to study soon with tongue and teeth.

She'd known that Andréa was not wearing a bra, but to have confirmation of it sent liquid heat rolling from the top of her head down to her center, which was fast becoming wetter than she'd been with any lover, ever. Uncharacteristically she didn't stop to ponder it; maybe she'd bother with that later, maybe not. No, Miranda tossed the rest of her analytical reserve out the window and into the chilly Parisian evening, understanding that when gifted with something this earth-shatteringly beautiful and precious, it would be heresy not to give herself to the wonder of it.

Andy's head was resting on Miranda's shoulder and her face was tucked into her neck, the softest skin she'd ever encountered beneath her full lips. Her lower legs and feet felt like buzzing hornets were trapped beneath her skin, but she barely noticed, so completely immersed in Miranda was she. Arms wrapped around her waist, breasts pressed against one another, and the fragrance of the woman beneath the subtle signature perfume, before only ever caught in brief wisps of fanciful lunacy transported her to a place where magic was possible.

Andy moaned ever so softly and the exhalation of air against Miranda's neck caused her hands to cease their happy meandering of a most inviting hollow at the base of Andréa's spine and desire to seek softer, unexplored territory, without the restrictiveness of clothing. But there was still the matter of her punishment…

Miranda could feel behind her calves the cushioned chair where Andréa, looking so empathetic and caring, had sat only the night before.

"Andréa, do you think you are able to stand on your own now?" Miranda's voice was just above a whisper, and it took all of her control not to bury her face in the dark silky strands caressing her collarbones. Forcing her hands to move, she slid them languidly up and around the heated skin and rested them on Andréa's hips.

Andy nudged her nose in closer to the velvet beneath her and inhaled deeply, very reluctant to relinquish this place so hard fought. But the hands gently cupping her hips tightened slightly and Miranda repeated her name with just a bit more steel in her voice, so she pulled away and took one step back, flexing her calves and shifting her weight from one foot to the other in an attempt to get the circulation moving again.

"Yes, Miranda." She straightened, put her hands behind her back, and bowed her head, eyes returning to the carpet.

Miranda watched the body language of the woman before her, reassured that Andréa was in no danger of toppling over. She found she needed to see Andréa's eyes, needed to experience their connection before proceeding any further.

"Andréa, look at me…" And because Miranda realized that despite the roles they were negotiating that she needed Andréa to understand that there was to be more she added, "please."

As the "please" registered, Andy's head jerked up and she met Miranda's gaze with wide open surprise.

Miranda allowed a tiny expression of mirth to appear in the form of a subtle smirk. "Yes, upon occasion I have been known to utter the word." There were other things that Miranda said or did that were remarkable, but for the moment they all disappeared as her eyes fixated on the full lips before her. There was only one course of action left to her and she decided to seize the moment by taking one large step back into Andréa's personal space and pulling her into a bruising kiss.

Andy was so taken aback that she remained frozen. The very lips about which she'd fantasized so fervently and with much frequency were in fact caressing her own while the tongue that usually wreaked so much havoc with cutting words was pushing for entry with the obvious intent of total annihilation.

A hand gripping her hair and pulling her in tighter was what finally broke through her stupor and she returned the kiss with every ounce of pent up emotion.

She raised her hands and sifted the silver hair, lost in the moment, not realizing that she was vocalizing her need in a very primitive fashion.

Andréa's moan shot up Miranda's spine and triggered a tiny explosion of delight; it wasn't an orgasm but it was a near thing. _This girl is a revelation and we've only just begun. _ Deciding that she'd made her point quite eloquently, Miranda slowed the kiss and with a chaste press of her lips to either side of Andréa's now pouting ones, stepped back.

Andy's expression grew into a full-fledged frown but it was apparently ignored and the next words, spoken with a controlled evenness, shifted them towards a different space.

"Andréa, I want you to look at me until I tell you to do otherwise. Listen to my every word, follow my instructions, and do not speak unless I request that you do so. Do you agree with those conditions?"

Andy's inner engine was idling at a higher than normal rpm and she was still struggling to pull together the pieces of herself that had scattered after their kiss. A part of her was marveling that it was even possible for her body to have reached its current level of arousal and was concerned about whether or not she would be able to maintain the control necessary to fulfill her role in the coming interaction.

"Yes, Miranda." Andy was surprised by steadiness in her voice. Apparently she was just going to have to trust her body to see her through.

Knowing that she must have had to dredge it up from some heretofore untapped reservoir, Miranda was impressed with Andréa's calm response. That reserve was a point of curiosity for Miranda as it ran counter to the impetuosity that so often governed the girl's actions. The joy she had always found in Andréa's presence, even if she'd only a short time ago acknowledged that it was joy, set spark to the part within Miranda that reveled in pushing the girl to her limits, wanting to discern their edges and whether they were set in stone or able to be bent and pushed farther. Of course all would not be revealed in one day, or even perhaps in a lifetime, but she was gratified to realize that the discovery would most likely forever intrigue her.

Miranda looked around the room, trying to decide upon the next course of action. A part of her wanted so badly just to take the girl to her bed and rip the few clothes that separated her from the luscious body she knew was lurking underneath the soft cashmere folds. Yes, that would come. After. There was still the matter of the righting of a wrong. Andréa had walked away and Miranda needed her to understand how badly that had hurt.

"You acted today with an appalling lack of professionalism." Miranda schooled her voice so it was low and nearly sing-song, knowing the effect that that particular tone had on her former assistant.

"We've already decided that banishment would not be an appropriate recompense and a verbal warning will be insufficient as I believe you are quite stubborn." Miranda paused and watched as Andréa's respiration became shallower and more rapid, her eyelids fluttered, and she squirmed ever so slightly. She was definitely on the right track but she was concerned that the next part was going to come out sounding trite or contrived, two things she'd always carefully avoided, unless of course it suited her needs at the time. Her thoughts flitted briefly to Irv and Jacqueline but cast them both out as unworthy of her attention. This was not the time to allow the jackals into her mind for they wrought only havoc and sparked her anger, an emotion she didn't want ever to bring to this role-playing dynamic with Andréa.

Andy trembled as she stood waiting for whatever it was that Miranda would say next. _This is it._ Now that the moment was upon her she once again had doubts as to how she would perform. _Will I be adequate? Will I respond the way Miranda wants? What if I…_ Her thoughts were interrupted by a directive and it took a moment for her body to catch up with it. She winced as Miranda spoke again.

"Do I need to send an engraved invitation?" Miranda hid her smirk behind a laser glare and watched as Andréa's body finally caught up with her brain and moved the coffee table away from the couch.

"Thank you, Andréa. See, you _**are**_ able to take basic instruction."

Andy narrowed her eyes at the mild sarcasm but held her tongue; this was not the time or the place for her willfulness to make an appearance. Besides, she loved when Miranda focused this particular part of her personality on her, and whereas some would feel the words as a lash Andy felt them as a caress. Twisted perhaps, but not really so when she considered the underlying care that was building between them.

Miranda moved around the standing woman and sat regally in the middle of the couch with her legs crossed. Affixing her sternest glare, she measured her words like they were the most precious of ingredients.

"You have put me in a very difficult position, Andréa. I find that I need…" She paused and continued to hold their gaze and dropped her tone to a lower register. "That I need to make you understand just how disappointed I was in you today." Miranda found that the low-humming need of a different sort that had been present since this entire interaction began was escalating and the desire to experience Andréa's evidence of it was too strong to resist. She uncrossed her legs, shifted until her back was against the cushions, and moved her feet so they were about a foot apart.

"Come here and…" Her throat almost closed over the words but the hesitation was only a fleeting moment. "Drape yourself face down across my legs."

The muscles in her abdomen and between Andy's legs clenched as every drop of moisture fled her mouth and flooded the silk that barely separated her from the material of her pants. As she moved forward she took in the logistics: Miranda had moved backward enough that Andy would be able to have both her head and most of her lower body on the sofa, but the ornate piece of furniture would mean that her legs would need to remain bent at the knee although it was a relief that she would not have to burden those knees with supporting her weight. She wondered briefly if Miranda had positioned herself the way she did for just this reason.

Hoping that her trembling hands wouldn't be too obvious, Andy lowered her knees to the couch, then paused to gauge whether she had complied to Miranda's satisfaction. At the subtle nod she turned and laid her body across Miranda's lap, settling so that the junction of her legs rested on the outside thigh of Miranda's left leg, certain that the pressure from that connection would soon prove to be very satisfactory.

Miranda watched with avid fascination as the trembling woman lowered her body over her legs. Her eyes narrowed when she caught the shifting of a heated mound and she smiled, recognizing the self-serving nature of the position. Not unaffected by the poignancy or the loveliness of the scene before her, she lowered her own shaky hand to the softest area presented and let it remain, quiescent, for several moments. Allowing both of them to adjust to the stimuli, Miranda maintained the stillness, absorbing the warmth radiating through the soft fabric. She licked her lips, somewhat amused to find that they were dry, and watched as her hand, without any conscious directive to begin, stroked back and forth in a soothing rhythm.

Andy greedily sucked in the almost benign caress. She was aching for more but knew she needed to accept Miranda's pace. That didn't mean though that she couldn't shift just a tiny bit higher to extract the maximum amount of contact on the body part most aching for some measure of relief.

Andréa's minor readjustment did not go unnoticed and Miranda narrowed her eyes. _Oh, this will not do._ This was supposed to be punishment and having the girl shoot off like a rocket at the slightest twitch was simply not acceptable. She removed her hand and noted the resultant squirm. Filled with an overwhelming devilry Miranda moved her left hand so it was aligned with the crease in Andréa's behind, lowered it, and firmly cupped between her legs, using all of her strength to push the girl forward so that Andréa's mound now rested more in the space between her legs, assuring that very little friction would be created between Miranda and those parts on her penitent that would most benefit.

An unfiltered moan broke free from Andy when Miranda's hand firmly grasped her sex; it morphed, however, into a frustrated groan when she realized the purpose of the maneuver.

Miranda laughed musically. "Oh, you silly girl, surely you didn't think you were going to _get off_ so easily now, did you?" With a final caress to the covered behind, she firmly instructed, "Raise your hips for me." As Andy complied, Miranda reached underneath to untie the drawstring she'd noticed earlier. The brush of her knuckles against a toned belly elicited a sharp intake of breath from both women.

This is really happening. Miranda's eyes watched as hands seemingly disconnected from the rest of her slid beneath the waistbands of both pants and a silk undergarment and pushed them down until they were bunched at just about mid-thigh. Feeling her pulse throb between her legs, she fought a near-blinding urge to lean over and bite the firm globes of muscle; the need to consume was nearly overwhelming. Instead she diverted the impulse by raising her hand and bringing it down with a testing degree of force and focused her concentration on taking in every bit of information possible.

Andy yelped at the sudden sting and her body involuntarily raised itself before she was pushed back into place.

"No, my beautiful girl, you will not move. You will not cry out. You." A fingernail traced the fading pink outline of Miranda's handprint on the pale skin. "Will." Another slap, this one to the other cheek, brought only a slight gasp and a minor shift. "Hmmm, better." The fingernail repeated its prior actions on the newest imprint. "You will count for me. I want to hear you give voice to each and every stroke I give you. This is your punishment for leaving me…"

Miranda's voice broke for just a fleeting moment before she managed to swallow the pain of what she had almost lost and put herself back into the scene they were creating. Perhaps she would share the pain with Andréa later, although, given her natural reticence, perhaps not. Possibly this expression of it would be enough.

Andy's heart nearly tumbled out of her chest when she heard the break in tone. Tears filled her eyes and she responded the only way she could: she released every bit of tension from her body and opened herself to whatever Miranda desired from her.

Miranda felt exactly the moment that Andréa gave herself completely over to her and she nearly wept with the relief of it. A renewed energy surged through her and she brought her hand down, palm flat, making full, resonating contact.

She'd never spanked anyone in her life; corporal punishment was never something used with her daughters, and she was surprised at the way it caused her hand to sting. But maybe that was the point: balance, every action having an equal reaction.

"Begin counting now, Andréa."

A steady "One" was the only verbal response while Andy lifted her hips ever so slightly so her ass was raised just a bit more to better receive.

Miranda grew dizzy for just a moment from the gesture and thanked whatever deity had brought her to this moment. She continued at a steady pace, varying the positioning of her hand and the intensity of the blows as well as their placement and pace, ever watchful of every twitch and response in Andréa's body. After about a dozen strokes, her hand was numbing and she noticed that the material of her slacks on her left thigh was becoming slightly damp, so she paused. Fascinated by the contrast in color, she danced her fingers along the edges between the reddened and pale skin, a fingernail tracing at times gently and at other places with a focused intent that nearly scored the skin until she could quell her curiosity no longer and slid them between the cheeks, brushing the upper opening that convulsed at the touch before moving lower and finding the source of that dampness.

Reveling in the abundant display of desire, Miranda pressed a single digit into Andréa's wetness and, finding no resistance, added another. As she pressed into the incredible liquid heat, she used her right hand to once again begin tracing random patterns in the skin below. The only warning she gave Andréa that another slap was imminent was a terse command to begin counting again.

Andy had only moments to adjust when what felt like two fingers slid into her with not a little force and another stinging slap struck the upper portion of her buttocks. Yet she held steady and a firm "Fourteen!" rang loudly in the room.

Another slap and the fingers buried within her began to move, pumping in and out of her. She could feel an orgasm beginning to build and attempted to find a way for her clit to receive the friction needed to push her over the edge.

A pinch to her side was her reward.

"Oh no. You will not come until I give you permission. Is that understood?"

Andy bit her lower lip and nodded and another pinch reminded her that a verbal response was required.

"Y-yes… Miranda."

The almost-sob of her name nearly made Miranda relent but she wasn't ready to relinquish this perfect moment. With her fingers still buried deeply, she used her right hand to grab at the loose fabric keeping Andréa's midsection from view and tugged it so it was nearly covering the dark waves of hair that were splayed across the couch.

"That's right, be a good girl and raise yourself up for me. I need to have more of you, Andréa. Do you understand me?"

The "Yes, Miranda" was immediate, as was the following of the directive, and soon Miranda was pulling the sweater over the bowed head, further mussing the riotous curls until the material remained twisted between pale arms, binding them in place.

The vulnerable position in which Andy found herself only caused another wave of excited tingling to cascade through her and it took all of her effort to hold back the rising wave. Fuck but she needed to come, but the need to please Miranda was greater and she held firm despite the fingers pushing in and out of her body and the others that were now pinching and pulling at her nipples.

Andy had always loved having her nipples played with but none of her other lovers had ever attended to them so roughly, always treating her like she was some fragile creature that would break. At a particularly rough tug she moaned but nearly bit her tongue trying to stifle it. A stinging flick of a fingernail to her nipple blew the remaining restraint she had out the window and her vocalizations grew into a stream of low moans and cries of frustration.

"Oh god, Miranda, please." Andy drew out the please and the sheer agonized need within it seemed to break something in Miranda. She abandoned the full breasts with the painfully erect nipples and began again to rain stinging slaps on the still red buttocks while rearranging her left hand so that her fingers, sticky and slick with Andréa's arousal, were now stroking a bundle of nerves so hardened that the nub protruded beyond the slick folds that normally kept it hidden. Her thumb slid easily into the dripping void and she pushed in as far as she could go, seeking that roughened patch of nerves on the inner wall but just barely nudging it. Fortunately for the girl full contact didn't seem to matter, and even though Miranda was unfamiliar with the body she was playing so expertly, she was able to intuit that no amount of restraint was going to keep Andréa from coming apart in her arms. With one final stinging slap that reverberated through her hand and up her arm, a quick tug upon a still hardened nipple, and a forceful rubbing of both fingers and thumb, Miranda finally gave voice to what they both needed so badly.

"Andréa, come for me. Come for me now."

The resulting wail and the convulsing pulse of Andréa's body as she pushed back and down on her hand, trapping her fingers between wetness and her own thigh, brought Miranda soaring to her own place of bliss with a rapidity and intensity that surprised her. A sharp "Aahh!" escaped her lips as the woman draped over her continued to ride her in a display of wanton sexuality that spurred her right hand down between her own legs, providing just enough friction for her to get lost once again in a blaze of light.

Andy's knees and arms gave out at precisely the same moment as her second orgasm was robbing her brain of all coherent thought and she lay limply, aware that Miranda had not removed herself from her still needy sex.

Miranda was slumped back as far as she could get, her head slung back limply, resting on the wood trim of the curved sofa. Her eyes languidly tracing the curves of the still heavily breathing woman, she struggled to gather together her scattered wits. She flexed the muscles in her legs, aware that she probably would need to move soon. _Hmm, _she nearly purred, _but_ _not yet._ Her right hand picked up the path her eyes had taken, petting Andréa's long and sleek form as if she were a jungle cat, as her left hand slid out from its nesting place.

Andy's nerve endings twitched as Miranda's thumb was removed and she stretched slightly as the soft pads of restless fingers traveled deliciously up and down her spine. When the fingers reached the still stinging curves of her ass it felt like tiny shocks of electricity were stimulating her clit and unbelievably she found her arousal once again rising.

Miranda noted a flush tinting the pale skin and began to focus the aimless meandering of her fingers until the discomfort in her legs changed her mind and she patted the hip nearest her.

"Andréa, let's take this into the other room."

Andy tried to figure out a way to move off the sofa with some degree of her dignity intact. Deciding that it really didn't matter, she braced her arms under her and pushed up.

"Oh god." Andy's body protested as she straightened and her knees took her weight, once again prompting Miranda to turn and guide Andy to a sitting position. Chuckling at her partially dressed state as she eyed the only slightly ruffled queen of composure, Andy pulled the still twisted sweater off of her arms and kicked away the pants and panties that had dropped nearly to her ankles. Stretching her body into an arching curve that popped some of her vertebrae, she watched through hooded eyes as Miranda's pupils pushed the ice blue of her irises into a thin ring. Inspiration prompted her to lean back and slightly part her legs. She lowered her arms and brought her hands to rest on her thighs before nonchalantly moving her right hand up to stroke a curving line from her thigh to her belly button then back again, moving closer to the inner part of her thigh with each pass.

Miranda licked her lips and narrowed her eyes, unsure if the vision before her was real or a figment of her imagination. A shift of Andréa's hips as they pushed upwards in tandem with a barely audible "Oh!" which drew those full red lips into a nearly perfect "o" caused the ever in control woman to shift, uncomfortably aware of the ruined mess that had been a perfectly lovely pale pink pair of La Perla panties.

Andy's abused behind had made itself known when she'd shifted but the discomfort reminded her of being taken over Miranda's knee and it obliterated any residual awkwardness she might have been feeling over what she was now planning to do. Andy raised her left leg so it was resting on the couch, dragging her toes deliberately along Miranda's thigh before tucking her foot just under and behind the now heavily breathing woman's lower back, providing an unobstructed view of her neatly trimmed and glistening curls.

Miranda had never seen such a thing and yet it _was_ happening. She settled her right hand on a smooth shin, content for the moment to simply watch.

Andy had intended to draw this encounter out but the focused attention and the fire still stinging her ass were bringing her dangerously close and she was afraid that only one touch would tip her over the edge.

Noting the flush spreading across Andréa's chest, Miranda wasn't interested in having her show be over prematurely so leaned forward and gripped a narrow wrist, stilling it.

"Slowly. You are not to come until I'm ready for you to do so."

Andy whimpered then considered; why should Miranda be the only one getting to enjoy the view? So she bargained as she withdrew her hand and closed her legs. "I might require a little incentive, Miranda."

"Oh? And what more could you desire than to have me watching every stroke of your fingers on that achingly wet pussy?"

Andy leaned forward and traced Miranda's lips with her still damp finger, then trailed it down the long, elegant neck until she reached the collar of the silk blouse. "I want to see more of you." Scooting closer, she boldly unbuttoned the silk until she reached where it was tucked into the waistband of Miranda's pants. "I can wait a little while longer to see all of you, but I would like you to take off your jacket."

Miranda decided that she was getting the better end of the bargain, so she stood and removed her jacket, folding it neatly and laying it over the arm of the chair across from the sofa. Deciding to reveal just a bit more, she untucked her blouse and released the rest of the buttons so that the silk now hung loosely, the pale pink of her bra a mid-tone between the ivory of her skin and the slate gray of her blouse. Andy settled back into her corner of the sofa and drank the vision in. "You're beautiful, Miranda."

The words were uttered with a quiet certainty that took Miranda aback. She never thought of herself that way. Of course she knew she was striking and that she knew what to wear and how to wear it for maximum effect, but beautiful? No.

"It is you who are the beautiful one, Andréa." The declaration was equally quiet but it impacted Andy with the force of a shout. Deciding to not break the mood by dwelling on her doubts surrounding her body image, Andy once again brought her leg up onto the sofa, intent on picking up where she left off. She was stopped once again by the still standing woman.

"Let's take this to the bedroom. I don't want to have the hotel staff contemplating the nature of any stains on their precious furniture." Miranda grabbed Andy's hand and tugged her from her sitting position then pulled her along behind her.

"Come along, darling, don't dally. You know how I hate it when people move at a glacial pace." How she managed to keep the mirth out of her voice Miranda wasn't sure, but somehow she maintained her usual scathing tone.

Andy couldn't help the sudden bark of a laugh that bubbled up and broke free. She picked up her pace and drew nearly to Miranda's side as they crossed the threshold into the most decadently decorated bedroom Andy had ever seen.

Miranda caught the gaping expression and waved her hand dismissively. "Yes, yes, it's completely overdone, but I can assure you that you will find that bed to your liking."

As Miranda began to turn away, Andy grabbed hold of her hand and tugged her close.

"Miranda, as long as you're in the bed with me it could be made of straw and I'd still find it to my _liking_."

Andy punctuated the sentiment with a kiss that threatened immolation and when it ended Miranda strode over to the covers, whipped the spread and blanket nearly off the bed, and pointed to the dozen pillows piled up against the fabric headboard of the king-sized canopy bed that came complete with deep red brocaded curtains tied back with gold silk roping.

"You, there. Now."

Andy scrambled to comply, her delicious ass on display as she crawled across the mattress.

Miranda removed her shoes, pants, and thigh highs, leaving only her undergarments and blouse.

Once Andy was in position, Miranda climbed onto the bed and settled on her knees in front of the woman whose eyes were watching her every move.

"Spread your legs for me, Andréa. Let me see you." Miranda scooted forward so her knees were between Andréa's ankles and then relaxed her body so she was resting most of her weight on her calves. She then reached out and gripped both ankles before her and opened the girl further, pushing back so Andréa's knees were bent and her calves nearly touched the back of her thighs.

"Yes, just like that." Miranda took in the beauty of the folds of glistening flesh framed by the short, dark curls matted by wetness and she had an overwhelming desire to dive her tongue straight in without any further delay. But she held back, knowing that her observation and the anticipation of more to come later would only serve to heighten both of their pleasure.

Andy's world narrowed to a trinity comprised of the hardening points that were now visible beneath the thin material of Miranda's blouse, the silk between toned legs that was darkened considerably, and the steady throb between her own legs.

Starting at her breasts, Andy cupped the modest weight then pinched both nipples before moving down. One finger traced a line from her belly button to the edge of her pubic bone, stopping to play with the small triangle of hair before dipping lower. She skirted around her aching bundle of nerves and stuck her middle finger inside to the first knuckle before drawing it out and bringing it to her mouth. Looking up, she captured Miranda's eyes by extending her tongue and licking her finger as though it were a popsicle.

Andréa's hum of pleasure created a stabbing ache of need and Miranda released one the ankles, reaching out with the intent of plumbing her own sample, but her hand was caught before it reached its destination and placed back onto Andréa's ankle.

"Did I say you may have a taste, Miranda?" Andy was enjoying the turnabout and licked her lips, watching as Miranda's tongue unconsciously mimicked the motion. At that moment Andy felt powerful and it tightened her bundle of nerves to a nearly painful degree.

"Watch me, Miranda." Andy slid her index and middle fingers so they rested on either side of her engorged clit and used her other hand to pull her folds back, exposing her center completely.

"You see, Miranda, this is what you do to me. I remember the first time I touched myself to thoughts of you. It was a few days after Harry Potter and I had left your house in such a high state of arousal that I could barely make it back to my apartment. My then boyfriend was still at work so I stripped and got into the shower. My shower has one of those handheld attachments…" She allowed her voice to trail off as she stroked with greater intent, letting out a little hiss of pleasure. "Yes, Miranda, it was you I saw as I pointed that pulsating water to where I needed you." Andy stumbled over the word "you," having intended to say "it," but didn't bother to correct herself. "And I exploded with your name on my lips."

Andy could no longer focus on the words, so lost was she in the sensations bombarding her. Miranda gripped her ankles tightly, almost as if they were a tether keeping her grounded. She leaned forward and was dancing her tongue up Andréa's calf and into the crease formed behind her knee. Fingers nearly blurred they were moving so quickly, Andy could feel the rising within; it wouldn't take long now she knew, especially with Miranda hovering so close to her center that she could probably taste her in the air she was rapidly drawing into her lungs.

Just when Andy was about to topple over the edge, her ankles were released and her hands were pushed away to be replaced by questing lips and a stabbing tongue. "Miranda!" Andy nearly shouted as the wicked tongue slammed up and inside while fingers probed and pulled at the distended nerve bundle, pushing her over the edge into temporary deafness broken by muttered curses as pulsing lights blinded her to anything not connected to the continuous lapping of a flattened tongue that was working her back up only so she could plummet once again.

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concluded in Chapter 4


	4. Chapter 4

_Disclaimers and Ratings: Disclaimers for DWP ownership found in chapter 1. This chapter has more graphic sexual exploration and proudly earns its NC-17/M rating. Once again thank you__ to Firebird93 for her beta-work!_

* * *

**Chapter 4**

It was the vibration of a growing chuckle tickling her belly that finally roused Andy from her lassitude. Realizing that her hand had woven its way into white silken strands of hair as Miranda rested, shoulder pressed into her wetness and cheek nestled near to her bellybutton, Andy watched an expression of unrestrained joy accentuate the high cheekbones as Miranda shifted so her head now tilted up to look at her.

"Oh my god." Miranda took a moment to try to find some moisture so she could speak. "I would never have guessed in a million years that this would actually happen." She shifted so she could sit up and then practically crawled up the youthful body before her.

"Andréa…" Miranda swallowed and forced the words from her lips that a rare few had ever heard and none had ever received with such raw intensity. "I need you, oh god, but I need you now."

At the ragged whisper, Andy turned and gathered Miranda in a fierce embrace, kissing her so their lips almost bruised as she rolled them so Miranda was on her back. In what seemed like seconds she removed all traces of clothing and, knowing that Miranda was probably in agony by now, didn't pause to properly worship the body she'd dreamt of so many nights. Instead she slid her hand down and slipped two fingers into a river of heated liquid that caused both women to moan into their kiss. Separating their lips, Andy moved down to lave first one nipple then the other with the flat of her tongue before creating a suction that elongated and pulled the hardened peak into her mouth using both tongue and teeth to further stimulate it.

Miranda groaned in near desperation; she needed a rhythm and she needed it now so thrust her hips insistently up and then back to demonstrate.

Ever a fast learner, Andy picked up the tempo and was nearly slamming into the body beneath her as she continued to torture both nipples with a matching fervor.

"Miranda, oh god, Miranda, you are so fucking hot." Andy's voice broke, but she needed to get this out, needed the other woman to understand just how much she wanted her. "I'm finally doing it, Miranda. After all those dreams, all those fantasies where we did all sorts of nasty, wonderful things to one another, finally I have you spread out beneath me, have my fingers inside you where they've ached to be." Andy raised her body high enough to look directly into hooded eyes as, jaw clenched, Miranda met her gaze.

Andy offered one of her face splitting smiles before resuming her monologue. "Miranda…" Andy leaned down as she slid deep inside and left her fingers there, thumb now working at the engorged nerve bundle, and whispered in her ear, "Miranda, I'm fucking you." She traced the ear with her tongue then tugged on one of her earrings with her teeth before releasing it. "Did you like bending me over your knee? Did you like teaching me a lesson and putting me in my place?"

She picked up the rhythm and gave one final lick to the delicate shell of her ear. "Oh god, Miranda, are you ready? I can feel you squeezing my fingers. It feels like you're close, but I don't know you yet. Are you? Miranda, are you ready to…"

Andy didn't get to finish her sentence as Miranda shot off with a near scream and a bite to Andy's collarbone that set Andy flying yet again as she pressed down on Miranda's pelvic bone and ground out her ecstasy.

They lay entwined in the aftermath, Andy shifting her fingers every minute or two, drawing out yet more moans and wetness until finally they drifted into a dreamless sleep.

lXlXlXlXl

Miranda shifted and groaned softly. She was lying on her side but she couldn't move due to the person next to her… The novelty of the situation caused her brain to take about five seconds to catch up with her surroundings. She had not actually slept with anyone for at least ten years. Of course she'd had sex with a couple of people after her first husband and then there was soon to be ex-husband number two, Stephen, but she just never actually slept with any of them after.

_Stephen, ugh_... She stared at the ceiling and shook her head minutely. _The difference that two days can make in a life_... A welling of pain rose sharply and her lips thinned in response. They'd been so horrible to one another for so long that she'd forgotten that at one point they actually liked each other. A tiny bubble of guilt mingled with the blooming sadness; this was the first time she actually had thought of him since Andréa had laid open their adjoining hotel room door and pushed out the parameters of her life.

That woman now shifted slightly, and Miranda's focus turned to her as the dark curls slipped to but a hairs-breath away from her face. Miranda tilted her head, unable to resist inhaling the complex scent so unique to Andréa. She found herself getting lost in it, something she'd never done with her male lovers.

The bedside lamp was still on, as were the lights in the outer room, but without her glasses she couldn't make out the numbers on the bedside clock. It was still full dark outside, that much she could tell. She shifted again, not really wanting to wake the woman beside her who was lying fully on her arm, but she couldn't feel much more in her hand other than a tingling buzz.

Deciding she could wait a minute or two longer, Miranda flexed her hand to gain perhaps a micron of circulation and then, letting her eyes wander, reveled in the vision before her, relieved that she was unconstrained now by propriety. Inhaling deeply once again, she breathed in Andréa like she was greeting a crisp clear morning. _There it is again. There is just something about her_… Even though Miranda understood most of the theory behind the chemistry of attraction, it didn't inhibit the feeling of wonder that she was actually experiencing it. And it wasn't just the smell of sex that scented the air around them. No, it was something primal, something fundamental that allowed the presence of this woman in her bed to comfort and arouse instead of isolate and repel. Forgetting that she was trying not to disturb the still soundly sleeping woman, she buried her nose into the dark curls and nudged at that place just below and behind Andréa's ear, captivated once again. As she wrapped her free arm around the very female form hidden beneath the covers, a subconscious growl hijacked her good sense by silently yelling, _Mine!_

Miranda was only mortified by her baser self for a fraction of a moment before a satisfied curl to her lips grew into a full-fledged grin as she recalled just when Andréa had indeed become hers. As her memory replayed the exact moment that Andréa had sunk to her knees mere hours before, her hand began to trail down a bare arm until she met the comforter. Pursing her lips at the barrier, she pushed the light-as-air fabric encased feathers away, leaving only the softest of sheets separating her from the gently sloping arc of a wondrous hip.

The grin returned as the flat of her hand followed that curve, molding gently to parts that she had earlier attended in a much different manner. She marveled at the beauty over which the caress traveled, as enamored by the supple skin the color of cream as she was by the bloom of red heat she'd created when this same hand had met this same muscular softness. The grin slipped casually into a full smile, for Miranda so loved the many dichotomies found in life.

She loved that this girl—_well, not girl_—she cupped the behind and squeezed ever so gently—_woman_— was full of contrasts and always managed to surprise her.

She loved _her_. Andréa loved Miranda and Miranda loved Andréa. The fact that Andréa actually could love someone such as herself was astonishing, but…

Mirada was now nibbling on the earlobe she had uncovered and her hand was sliding back up the sheet, intent on discovering its edges.

Her mind picked up where it had left off. Yes, that Andréa loved her was what some would call a miracle, but the discovery that she loved Andréa was the ultimate surprise and the profundity of the realization the day before was superseded only by the fact that she had actually allowed herself to admit it. _Hmm, perhaps I need to rethink my agnosticism_.

As she hooked a finger into the folds of the sheet, she tossed away the philosophical chatter as irrelevant; whatever existed would continue to do so regardless of what she believed—and she had far, far better things to do at the moment.

Miranda pushed her hips into the cushioned behind at the same time as she pulled the sheet down until it was at mid-thigh on them both. All thought tripped over a crack in her reserve and was derailed by a surge of heat that blocked out all other stimuli, even the coolness of the surrounding air. She scooted as close as possible until the planes of Andréa's entire back aligned with their counterparts'—shoulder blades to breasts, buttocks to heated mound and thighs to thighs—finding a rocking rhythm that stirred the embers within her once again.

lXlXlXlXl

Andy was having an unusually pleasant dream, so when the outside world seemed intent on intruding she resisted, holding on as long as she could to that swirling wonderland of color and sensation that made her feel weightless and whole. But a chill overtook her body that forced her to surface and the dream yielded as Andy prepared to face another day having the woman of her dreams only while sleeping or in her fantasies.

It wasn't until she realized her arms were pinned to her sides and that the rocking she'd been experiencing in her dream world was actually due to the woman behind her and not… _Miranda! Oh my god, I'm still dreaming! _Andy's waking mind nearly tripped over itself as the entirety of her time spent with "her" editor yesterday crowded into every corner, creating such an overwhelming contrast of belief and disbelief that it compelled a gasp from her lips.

At first Miranda thought that the slight shaking as Andréa returned to her from her slumber was a result of her growing arousal, as was the ragged gasp that was accompanied by strong hands covering her own. That was until her hands were taken and brought gently to soft lips where Miranda was astonished to feel wetness upon the young woman's cheeks.

Miranda's insecurities all seemed to crowd the room and a hurt so raw as to force her own eyes to water nearly impelled her from the bed. If it wasn't for those same hands refusing to relinquish their grip, she would have. But they wouldn't let go; instead they tightened and drew her even closer, allowing a sliver of hope to remain.

Miranda's confusion was whispered out in a hoarse approximation of her usual dulcet tones. "Andréa, are you crying? Do you regret…" A barest of pauses to gather her scattered wits before continuing. "Do you regret what's happened?" Somehow she managed to contain the break in her internal voice from leaking out into the space between them, but it was a near thing.

"This is real, right?" Andy's voice was barely a whisper and she released the softest hands she'd ever held and twisted in their embrace, looking up into a stormy gray gaze softened by tears that had not fallen. "Please tell me I'm not going to wake up alone in my hotel room destined never to see you again!" Andy choked on the last word and buried her face in the crook of Miranda's neck. "Please tell me this isn't a one-time thing."

The relief was like a rubber band snapping and Miranda gathered the softly weeping woman into her arms, the sensual rocking of only moments earlier replaced by a different sort intended to soothe and reassure.

"Oh no, my darling, I don't regret a single moment." Miranda placed delicate kisses along the dampened cheeks, gathering the moisture at times with the tip of her tongue as she marveled at how beautiful Andréa remained even sleep-mussed and in tears. Deciding that Andréa needed far more than a denial of regret, Miranda forced herself to share more of what was within her heart.

"I've been lying here watching you sleep, feeling every inch of you next to me, and marveling that you actually love me. That you've somehow been able to see me enough, to see beyond the image I portray to most of the world… to _**see me**_ and more astonishingly, that you love what you've seen. It's a gift beyond measure."

Miranda dipped her head and covered the slightly parted lips with her own before withdrawing and meeting the deep umber gaze with eyes now transitioned to a blue found only in certain parts of the Caribbean. "I do love you, Andréa, and may I assure you," Miranda strengthened her voice and narrowed her eyes in a look more reminiscent of her "dragon" moments, "_**this**_ is not a dream."

* * *

**End**


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